


Undefined

by Ausp_ice



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic, Aromantic spectrum, Cover Art, Demiromantic Nines, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Masculine Nonbinary Nines, Nonbinary Character, Quoiromantic Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice/pseuds/Ausp_ice
Summary: Connor and Nines are close. This, he knows. He has always labeled it as friendship.But it's only when he starts coughing up flowers that he realizes it's not so simple, after all.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900
Comments: 18
Kudos: 116





	Undefined

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've wanted to make a Hanahaki AU with a bit of my own twist for a while. I have also wanted to explore the aromantic spectrum when it comes to romantic relationships!  
> I'll explain how Connor and Nines identify at the end notes, but if you want to go in relatively blind, Set Forth.
> 
> Warning for, well, expelling flowers, terminal illness, the usual for Hanahaki.
> 
> Beta'd by Lunar / [Steampunk_Chicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steampunk_Chicken/pseuds/Steampunk_Chicken), thank you!

* * *

_ The Hanahaki Disease is a rare condition in which the victim coughs up flower petals, (and at later stages, entire flowers) when they suffer from one-sided love. One in every few hundred cases of "unrequited love" result in contraction of the disease. It ends when the beloved returns their romantic feelings, or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear. _

* * *

"Hey, Connor."

Connor blinks, eyes focusing onto Hank. "Hello, Hank," he says.

The lieutenant is watching him from across the desk, an assessing look on his face. "You've been staring off into space for a while now. Whatcha up to?"

"I was browsing the internet. Maybe I'll become cultured enough to understand your vernacular." 

Hank snorts. "I'm not sure if I should be grateful or afraid."

"I suppose we'll find out," Connor returns, a smirk teasing at his mouth. His auditory sensors register the  _ beep  _ of the gates to the bullpen opening then, and Connor glances over, spotting Nines and Detective Reed—they must have gotten back from their investigation. 

Connor respects Nines for having the patience to put up with the detective, for having the persistence to somehow get through to him. Reed's use of abusive language towards androids has plummeted, and he acts nearly civil to Connor when they unavoidably cross paths. Connor still avoids him, though. Just because he's better doesn't mean Connor wants anything to do with him, even after just about two years of working here. 

He brushes aside the thought, before pinging Nines and giving him a wave once the other android's attention is on him. Nines says something to Reed before parting from him, making his way over to Connor. 

"Nines, hello," Connor greets, once he's close enough. As usual, wearing a black turtleneck with a white jacket over it, styled very similarly to his uniform but lacking the android identifiers. "Did you just come back from your investigation?"

"Yes." Nines nods. "We expect we'll be able to close the case soon."

Connor beams. "That's great! So you'll be free tonight?" 

"Most likely." Nines's LED flickers for a moment. "Yes. I don't expect our plans to be impeded." 

"My place or your place?" 

Nines hums. "Yours?"

"Fine with me," Connor agrees. 

Both of them live in their own apartments—Hank invited Connor to stay at his place after the revolution, and he did take the lieutenant up on his offer for a few months. But Connor had felt it important to get a place of his own, if only a small one, and once he got enough money from working at the DPD, he found a nice studio apartment not far from Hank's place. Nines, when he was awakened, lived at Connor's place for a bit before he got hired by the DPD as well and subsequently got his own apartment. In the same complex as Connor's, actually. 

They often spend evenings together, finding this and that to do, before retiring for the night and returning to their own apartments for their maintenance stasis. They've recently found a bunch of series to watch together. It's an interesting study on human behavior. 

Connor considers this, as Nines gives another nod and returns to his desk. Nines has already become a constant in his life, someone he's fine with talking about anything with, someone he's eager to just  _ spend time _ with. 

Sometimes, he gets the strange urge to reach over and hug him. They haven't done that much, despite how much time they spend together. Connor hugged him when he moved out, and sometimes, when they read or watch something very emotional, Connor might find himself clinging to his successor. But Nines often seems stiff at the contact, so Connor's honestly not sure if he likes it or not. 

There's a strange pressure in Connor's chest, and he rubs at it absently. It's odd, cropping up every now and then. Diagnostics haven't been very helpful, and it usually disappears after a while, so Connor hasn't been  _ too _ worried. Still… he might be imagining it, but he feels like it might be getting  _ slightly _ more uncomfortable as more time passes. 

He's made an appointment to get it checked out—in a few weeks, given that it doesn't seem to be urgent, and there are plenty of androids who need more help than he does.

"Connor?" He glances up to see Hank watching him. "You okay?"

"Of course, Lieutenant."

"It's Hank."

"Of course, Hank. And I'm fine. I think." 

Hank squints at him. "You think."

"I think," Connor confirms. "Anyways. It's just some minor discomfort. If it gets worse, I'll go see Simon or something." The PL600 had taken to acting as a doctor of sorts for androids after the revolution. 

"You'd better," Hank says.

* * *

_ Following the android uprising and their recognition as individuals, it has been discovered that androids can also contract the disease. Some of the remains of old androids were found overgrown with flowers, and at first it was signed off as an unusual act of nature—rare occurrences, but not unheard of, and certainly more reasonable than androids contracting Hanahaki at that time. _

* * *

Nines knocks on Connor's door at 6 PM on the dot. Connor wastes no time in letting him in. "Hey, Nines! Come on in." 

The RK900 nods and steps forward as Connor steps off to the side and, once Nines is inside, closes the door. "So, what do you want to do? Continue watching that series, or…" Connor trails off.

"That will do," Nines answers. So they both seat themselves on the couch, a respectable two feet between them, while Connor turns on his TV and pulls up the latest episode of the series. 

It's a fantasy-science fiction fusion, which is certainly interesting. The details in the worldbuilding are fun to pick out and piece together, and there's a wonderful representation of characters with many genders and orientations. 

Nines had told Connor the other day that he didn't really think of himself as much of a guy, which was surprisingly unsurprising. But he's still fine with masculine pronouns, so it doesn't make much of a difference to the outside world. 

Well, except for how Connor suggested that Nines try out a nail polish program—and he certainly noticed how his successor's nails are a glossy black now, not like how they were earlier today. 

Connor thinks it might mean something, Nines showing him first. That Nines is comfortable with him, that Nines trusts him. It makes a warm feeling blossom in his chest, one that makes him quietly murmur, "Your nails look really good on you," one that seems to suffuse through every circuit in his body when Nines gives him a small smile and a "Thank you."

Halfway through the episode, Connor must have slipped into low power mode, because he's pressed against something firm, and there's a touch on his shoulder, nudging him into awareness. "Connor?"

He blinks, optics adjusting to the low light, as he sits up from where he was—oh. Leaning on Nines. He opens his mouth to speak, when a strange tightness grips his throat. He clears his throat, or something like that, and the feeling fades. 

"Are you alright?"

Connor blinks, refocusing on Nines's face. The other android's brows are pinched as he watches Connor, one hand on his shoulder. "Uh, sorry. I think I'm okay? I've been feeling a little off lately. I made an appointment for a few weeks from now, I don't think it's anything too bad."

Nines's brow pinches. "Are you sure?" 

"I'm mostly fine, really," Connor reassures. "I think it might be a dented output valve or something? Think it's been messing with my energy efficiency. I'll just enter stasis earlier today."

Nines continues watching him for a moment, and then he sighs and slides his hand away from Connor's shoulder. "Perhaps I'll leave early, then—"

"Aw, no, we barely got through one episode!" Connor straightens. "You have to stay for at least… three." 

Another sigh. "So be it. Three. And then you will rest."

"Yes. Definitely." Nines shoots him a look, and he raises his hands in surrender. "I will! I'm not that bad. All the time."

"So you admit you are that bad some of the time." 

"Hey." 

Nines turns away slightly, but Connor still catches the smirk before he does.  _ "Hey,"  _ Connor repeats. 

"I didn't say anything. Now come on, let's finish those three episodes so you can rest."

* * *

_ However, as additional cases began appearing, the truth became clear: androids can just as easily become victims of Hanahaki disease. The roots and flowers grow inside their chassis, their tubes, inside their artificial lungs. At the latest stages, inside core biocomponents, including the thirium pump and its regulator. _

* * *

When Connor finally realizes what's happening, it's at, arguably, one of the most inconvenient times possible. He, Hank, Nines, Reed, and a number of others are surrounding the location of a suspected red ice deal. 

The suspects arrive, and Hank and Connor move in. But when the suspects run, and Connor tries to chase them, he almost immediately starts feeling a strange sensation that humans might describe as vertigo—vision going bright, everything swimming, knees buckling, falling. 

The next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake. "Connor? Connor, what's wrong?" 

Murmurs, questions. 

"I dunno, he just collapsed suddenly…" 

"Please allow me, Lieutenant." Approaching steps, and then a request for an interface. Connor doesn't think too hard about accepting it. 

And then Nines is in his systems, rifling through diagnostics. Power levels are fine, thirium levels are fine, nothing is damaged. But… 

_ Low thirium flow. But why? There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with your pump or regulator… _

Connor cracks open his eyes, focusing on Nines's worried face. "Nines," he mumbles. And then he jerks up, "The suspects—" but then there's a sudden tightness in his throat, and he's coughing dryly into his hand, shaking as Nines backs up in alarm. He feels something in his hand, and when the tightness finally subsides, he lifts it away to see thin white filaments on his palm. 

He stares at them, uncomprehending for a moment, as he hears sharp inhales from the humans around them. 

"Connor?" Nines asks quietly. "What is that?"

And Connor activates the lab in his mouth, where he's sure the traces of the filaments remain.  _ "Chrysanthemum morifolium,"  _ he recites. "Spider chrysanthemum." The white ones of which are apparently a symbol of loyalty and devoted love. In Asia, adversity, lamentation, and grief. In Europe, death. 

"Oh my god," he hears distantly. Hank's voice. 

"Who," Nines grabs him by the shoulders. "Who is it?" 

Connor shakes his head. "I—I don't—I've never thought about anyone that way."

"Clearly you have," Nines hisses.  _ "Connor."  _

"I don't  _ know!  _ Other than Hank, the closest person to me right now is… you…" 

Oh. 

Shit. 

Nines immediately lets go of him, eyes wide. "Me?" He asks in a small voice. 

"I…" Connor chokes out a laugh. It sounds like a sob. How did some damn disease know he was in love before he did, himself? How does it know when he _still_ doesn't know what he's feeling? He presses his hands to his face. "I don't get it. Aren't we friends, Nines?"

A shuffling movement, a hesitant touch on his shoulder. Connor sniffs. And then he's being pulled into Nines's arms, pressed against his chest. 

* * *

_ Various processes are impeded until they halt entirely, leaving only a body that acts as an eternal bed for the lethal flowers. They will grow back even if removed, even on dismantled parts. This is similar to how it works for humans—the flowers will always grow upon the graves of victims and from ashes scattered across the earth. Undying love, was it? _

* * *

They take him to the android hospital. Hank drives, and Nines sits with Connor in the back. Reed and the other officers take care of the scene. 

On the way there, Connor distracts himself with research. About the disease, and about what he's feeling. 

"I think I might be quoiromantic," Connor says quietly. "That seems to be a term that those who can't distinguish romantic from platonic feelings use. Well," he sighs, "It's generally described as being unsure if you experience attraction or not, being unable to define romantic attraction, having a hard time distinguishing different types of attractions, among other things." He laughs bitterly. "I guess… this is what it is, even if I don't know it." 

"I'm sorry," Nines says quietly. 

Connor smiles at him. "You said that you're probably aromantic, right?"

"I did," Nines's gaze falls to the seat. "I have never…" He trails off. 

"It's okay, Nines. We're friends, right? We don't have to be anything more."

Nines looks at him for a long moment. "We're friends. Right now, we're friends, but…"

"Nines. It's okay."

The RK900 sinks into his seat. "It's not."

* * *

_ The Hanahaki disease takes an average of five months to become fatal for humans. For androids, there is not as much data, but it is estimated to take slightly longer, approximately seven months. However, as androids do not feel pain (reporting only a strange sensation of pressure and a feeling of increasing exhaustion), they often only realize they have Hanahaki about a month after the roots begin to grow—once they start coughing up the petals. _

* * *

As it turns out, he's probably been growing flowers in his chassis for more than a month now. If he traces it back to the first time he felt something like the pressure Simon described, maybe two, three even. 

"The progression seems to be slow, at least," Simon informs Connor. "I'd estimate about eight to nine more months before it… stops the function of your core biocomponents." 

Small mercies, given that he still doesn't know if he's in love. 

They're in their own room, Connor laying down on a cot, a bunch of machines hanging over him to scan his insides. Hank and Nines are waiting right outside. 

"Do you think your love will be returned by then?" Simon asks. 

"He's aromantic, most likely."

Simon's face pinches. "Oh." He looks down to his tablet. "I think I know what your answer will be, but I still have to ask. Do you want them removed?"

Connor shakes his head. "No."

So Simon tells him what to expect. He won't be in pain, since he's unable to experience that. He'll still be able to function normally, mostly—at least in the early stages—but anything high-energy might trigger a fit. He'll grow more and more and more tired; charging efficiency will decrease with no discernible cause in system diagnostics. And then one day, he'll go to sleep for real. Never to wake up. 

"People generally stop going to work when they find out their time is limited. Some choose to maintain their routine, though, until the disease impacts normal function. That usually happens when there's about one month remaining. At about three months left, people start tying up their loose ends."

"Noted," Connor says, smiling. "Thank you, Simon."

The other android looks a little like he wants to cry. 

* * *

_ The flowers can be extracted from an android victim. As is the case with humans, the victim's romantic feelings will disappear. Unfortunately, it also returns the victim to a machine state, so it is more accurate to say all feelings disappear. _

* * *

Connor immediately goes to hug Hank after the diagnosis. The lieutenant squeezes him desperately while Connor locks eyes with Nines over his shoulder. "Hank," Connor says, muffled. "You're like a father to me. I hope you know that."

A soft sniff. "I know, son. I know." 

Connor keeps working, after that. Fowler doesn't let him on any scenes that might require high levels of exertion or intensity, but Connor can still investigate crime scenes just fine. 

Everyone at the station knows. Connor doesn't try to hide it. He coughs up flower petals at his desk every now and then, brushing them off and into the wastebin whenever he's done. 

Hank watches him with grief in his eyes. 

And Nines… Nines's stress levels are consistently at around 15-25%, starkly different from his 2-6% of before. 

They still spend their evenings together, though, and sometimes, his stress dips down when they get absorbed in whatever they're doing—only to shoot back up whenever Connor has a coughing fit. 

Just as Simon said, he feels more tired lately. More than a few times, he ends up leaning against Nines on the couch, half-aware. Unlike before, though, Nines wraps an arm around his shoulder whenever he does. And if he tries to pull away, apologizing, Nines tightens his grip and says, "It's fine."

The first time he expels a full flower is three months later. He's at the station, taking care of paperwork, when the pressure that's been gradually growing in his chest suddenly intensifies, and there's a choking feeling in his throat. His hand shoots to his mouth, the other gripping the table, and he's bending over, coughing loudly, horribly,  _ wetly.  _ He detects thirium in his mouth, and then arms around him, catching him when he can't support himself anymore. He feels something come up, and the coughs ease, but he's heaving now, and then there's something more solid coming out of him—a partially-grown bloom, pristine white marred by thirium blue. 

He closes his eyes, sinking into the arms of whoever's holding him as they lower him to the floor. So  _ tired,  _ suddenly… 

Something dabs at his mouth—wiping away the thirium at his lips, probably. He opens his eyes to see Nines using the edge of his sleeve to clean Connor off, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "I'm killing you," he says. 

Connor reaches up to lay a hand on Nines's cheek. He doesn't pull away. "It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

"No. We can't help who, how, and if we love…"

"But I'm still killing you," he says, and Connor catches the tear that slips down Nines's cheek with his thumb. 

* * *

_ Most androids have deviated again, but their identities and behaviors often differ from what they were before. In a sense, the removal of the flowers may cause a death of "self." _

* * *

Captain Fowler sends him home for a week. He also gives Nines some time off, and the RK900 stays with Connor after he brings him home. 

Nines is very stressed. Connor would like it if he isn't. So he drags his successor to play games, watch movies. Nines sits zero feet apart from him on the couch, clutching Connor tightly. 

Connor feels a little cooped up after a while, though, and asks Nines to go out with him. 

"Uh—I mean like a walk or something. Not going out like—"

"Yes." 

They take to the streets of Detroit, wandering into any neat shops they find, counting the number of birds of each species they see. Nines catches a few that Connor doesn't. 

"Curse you and your superior sensors," Connor shakes his fist. He doesn't mention that his slowly failing systems might be a factor. 

Nines still tightens his lips, though, and Connor nudges him with his shoulder. "Come on, Nines, I was just joking." 

"I don't like to be reminded that I was built to be better," Nines mutters. 

"I know. Sorry." Connor scuffs the pavement with his shoe. "Careless of me. And we've been through this. You aren't defined by what you were made to be." 

Nines sighs. "It is one thing to acknowledge as fact, and another to internalize it emotionally." 

"… Yeah." Knowing that he loves Nines hasn't changed the way he feels about the RK900, not really. If this trust, this companionship, this comfort—if this is love, then who is he to argue? Though he supposes… he wonders it would be like. To hold hands, to kiss… He doesn't know. But he won't, because Nines… because he's a friend to Nines, and Nines is a friend to him. 

But he must have been staring at Nines's hand for too long, because the RK900 stops, looks at him. "Do you want to hold my hand," he asks, nearly monotone. 

"It's okay," Connor says quickly, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable." 

"I won't know if I don't try," and then Nines is sliding his hand into Connor's, and it feels—it feels nice. Very nice. 

Connor looks into those icy eyes, now so much closer. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," Nines says softly. "It's okay." 

"Okay." Connor smiles, hesitant. "Thank you, Nines."

The other android's eyes flicker with something. "It's the least I can do."

They continue on like that, hand in hand, before Connor starts coughing again, clinging to Nines as he chokes on the one, two, three nascent blooms. There are gasps and murmurs from surrounding passersby, but Connor is too tired to process them. Nines supports him against his chest as he calls an autotaxi to bring them home. 

* * *

_ Most androids choose not to remove the flowers. _

* * *

North yells at him, when she finally finds out. Grabs him by the collar, angry, tears in her eyes. "Who is it? Who did this to you?"

Connor shakes his head. "It's not like that. He's… He's aromantic." 

She hugs him. Angry. Mourning.

Markus cries. He's very emotional. "It's Nines, isn't it," he asks through the quietly falling tears. 

"Yes. He's my best friend." 

He doesn't try to convince Connor to remove the flowers, and for that, he's grateful. 

Neither does Hank, whenever Connor visits the lieutenant's house. Sumo is always a delight, even if he's getting on in his years. Connor's glad to see that most of Hank's alcohol reserves remain low—he can only hope they'll stay that way after Connor's gone. 

"Don't say that. Don't  _ say  _ that, please." 

The two of them hug, pressing each other close, savoring the mutual life within them. Both of them have danced with death—Connor's experienced it three times, after all. The interrogation, the highway, and the tower. 

Maybe that's why he's so calm about this. He's just inching towards death one more time. One last time. It helps that it doesn't hurt. 

He keeps a vase of his flowers in his bedroom, sitting on his windowsill. They come up his throat, covered in his blood, and he places them into the glass with some water. The thirium evaporates, and then the flowers start to wither—but before they do, fully, there are always more. 

One, at first. Then two at a time, then three. Ever more beautiful, spidery blossoms cascading in beautiful blooms. 

He sees them every morning, waking up to see the golden light casting them in an ethereal glow. And he thinks one day,  _ Yes. I think I love him. _

Nines doesn't seem to like the vase when he sees it, though. "You're keeping them," he remarks blandly. 

"Throwing them out doesn't feel right." Connor brushes his fingers across one of the flowers. "Not when they're for you." 

Nines looks almost crushed at that, and Connor opens his mouth to apologize, but the RK900 only walks closer to get a better look at them. He lifts a hand to brush against the petals, and Connor is half-worried he'll do something destructive. Instead, he just says, "They're beautiful."

Connor inhales—softly, he doesn't want to trigger another fit—and Nines turns to him, placing a hand on Connor's chest. "Will you let me see?" He asks softly. 

Connor blinks slowly, and nods. He lets Nines unbutton his shirt, touch careful, gentle, as he slides the cloth away to reveal Connor's chest. 

Unlike humans, it's easy to see the insides of androids. Connor's just never tried looking, but now… he melts away his skin, baring the cool plastic of his chassis, before sliding away the plates on his chest. 

Nines's eyes widen at the sight, and Connor can't help glancing down to see for himself—the flowers growing inside him. White blooms caressed by leaves and stems—dark blue from drinking his thirium—fill the cavities between his components. They shift as he breathes. Roots wind around his tubes, and he's sure they've broken through the membranes to reach inside some places—his thirium levels have been dropping faster than usual. His thirium pump beats steadily, even surrounded by the encroaching roots as it is. 

Connor looks back up to Nines. The RK900's eyes are bright, his mouth a thin line. He reaches up, slowly hooking a finger around the neck of one of the flowers. "If I tear these out of you," he murmurs, eyes on the bloom, "Will you live?"

Connor's breath stutters, and he feels the way Nines's grip tugs at the roots connected to his components. "If you tear these out of me, will I still be alive?"

Nines lets go. His head tilts down, lowered, defeated, and then he looks back up and lifts a hand to hold Connor's face. He thumbs Connor's cheek, and then slowly leans in, slow enough for Connor to pull away if he wants to, but fast enough that his processors don't catch up with it before there are lips pressing against his, and it feels like coming home, it feels like a missing piece clicking into place. 

But it's also—it's also not. Not right. Nines pulls away, and the other android is watching him with a hopeful, desperate look in his eyes. "Nines," Connor says softly. "Please don't force yourself."

Nines flinches, just a bit. "Why," he says. "Why can't I love you?" And the tears start to fall, quietly. Nines bites his lips, stifling the sounds of his weeping, and Connor leans forward to wrap his arms around the other android. 

"It's okay, Nines. I know you care. Just because you can't love one way doesn't make you any less, okay?"

"It's not okay." His voice is trembling. "It's not okay. You're dying. For  _ me." _

"Yes," Connor says. "So I am."

Nines's weight sags against him, and they both sink to their knees, holding each other. 

* * *

_ In the case that the love is reciprocated, the symptoms will ease as the love grows. _

* * *

Seven months after Connor's diagnosis, he keeps falling asleep—well, slipping into low power mode, but Hank's gotten him to call it sleep—at work. Fowler sends him home for good. 

"You've done a lot of good work for us, Connor," the captain says. "Now you have to take care of yourself, got it?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Captain Fowler." 

He goes home and he just… sleeps, most of the time. He coughs up flowers even when he's in stasis—more than a few times, he wakes up surrounded by flowers. 

It's too many to fit in the vase, already. 

Nines comes by every night—he has access to Connor's apartment, though it's not like he couldn't just hack it—and he seems weighed down by a quiet sadness. Especially when he finds Connor surrounded by flowers, thirium already evaporated from them, when he finds Connor too tired to get up and move. 

His face tightens, but he only picks out the best ones to put in the vase before throwing out the rest. 

They still watch movies and series, but Connor's too tired to have the focus or energy for gaming or going outside, most days. Nines supports him whenever they go to the couch, and that soon transitions to carrying him. 

He's too tired to hold himself back now, too, so when Nines moves to leave one night after setting Connor down in bed, he can’t help but ask, "Can you stay?" and Nines freezes. "You don't have to," Connor adds. "I just… I never seem to cough up as many flowers when I'm with you." 

Nines closes his eyes for a moment, and then nods. He pulls Connor's blanket up to his chin, before laying down next to him. They stare into each other's eyes for a bit, before Nines lifts up a hand to brush through Connor's hair. It feels  _ heavenly.  _ Connor gives a soft sigh, relaxing under the touch. Before he realizes it, he falls asleep. 

* * *

_ The roots in the victim's lungs—or, for an android, the victim's biocomponents—will gradually recede. Fewer flowers will be expelled. For a human, the pain will slowly ebb, though it is difficult to tell if an android is recovering at first.  _

* * *

Nines stays with him every night, now, only leaving when it's time for him to go to work. Whenever he has a coughing fit, flowers spilling out of him, Nines braces him, holds him steady. Cleans the thirium dripping down his lips with his own sleeves. 

Hank visits a few times. Sometimes, there are muffled conversations behind Connor's door—updates about Connor's decline, probably. The lieutenant sits by Connor's bed, running a hand through Connor's hair. He tells Connor about what happens at work. He cries, too, and Connor uses what strength he has to pull him into a hug when that happens. 

North visits. Markus, Simon, Josh, Tina, Chris. Gavin even asks Nines if he can visit, once, and Connor agrees.

The detective apologizes for what happened during the revolution. "You didn't deserve it. And this… you don't deserve this, either."

"Thank you, Detective Reed," Connor replies. Quiet. "I forgive you. You've grown, and I think you'll be an even better person as time goes on." When Connor's no longer there to see it. 

Connor will never know what the future holds, and it's that thought that tightens his chest, bringing tears to his eyes, and he starts coughing weakly, curling into himself, as his body fights between weakness and the need to expel the flowers clogging his throat. 

He's vaguely aware of Nines slamming the door open, "It—it wasn't me! He just started coughing—"

"Out."

Nines sits on the bed to grab Connor's hand and initiate an interface as the detective leaves. Connor immediately reassures him that it's not Reed's fault, he just—he just—he just doesn't want to die. 

The hand squeezes his tightly, all the way through his fit, until he finally falls still—two more flowers on the bed and more thirium dripping down his chin. Nines wipes it off, and then pulls Connor into a fierce hug. "Oh, Connor," he whispers. "Connor."

"I'm scared, Nines." Connor's voice is hoarse, somehow. He's given up trying to understand the disease—it's believed to be unscientific, anyways. "I'm barely three." And he's lucky, maybe, for living so long—beyond the revolution, beyond his time as a prototype. But he still can't help but wish he had more  _ time. _

Nines chokes out a sob, squeezing him tightly. "I'm here for you, okay? I'm here. I'm here." 

* * *

_ But eventually, the android will start regaining energy. As thirium pipes clear and the flowers begin to wither, the android will regain the functionality they lost. _

* * *

They sleep curled around each other now, and Connor is grateful for it. Nines takes time off work to stay with him, too. 

Connor knows it's only platonic cuddling, but the flowers seem to like it, at least. Or is it that they don't? In any case, it seems like he's been coughing up fewer of them lately, and he thinks he's starting to feel more alive again. 

It's not until Connor wakes up before Nines one morning, seeing the slightly wilting chrysanthemums in the vase, eight months after his diagnosis, that he stops and  _ thinks. _

He sits up, the arm Nines has wrapped around him slipping to his waist, before the other android stirs, awakening from his own stasis. "Connor?" He mumbles. 

It was so gradual that he didn't notice. Like the slow erosion of a rocky shore to smooth sand, waves crashing away at it steadily. "I'm still alive," Connor says. 

Nines's brow pinches. "Connor."

"I should be dying, but I feel  _ alive. _ I've been… feeling better, I think. Just last week, I was sleeping through the morning, but now…" He lifts a hand to his chest. "Nines…" He looks over to meet those icy eyes. "Do you love me?" 

Nines blinks. He blinks, and he sits up suddenly, eyes wide. He holds a hand over his mouth, LED flickering rapidly as he undoubtedly runs through his memories, trying to find where it shifted. If it shifted. 

Connor doesn't think there was a single point, though. After all, if he can't find the line between platonic and romantic love, even this far in, who's to say the line isn't just as blurry for Nines? 

"I… I just." Nines's hand slides down from his mouth. "I'm happier. With you. I don't want you to go, and I just… I just. There's no one else that I would rather spend my life with…" 

Connor offers his hand, skin peeling back. "It's easier than trying to explain, isn't it?"

The other android hesitates, and then nods. He presses his hand to Connor's, palm to palm, skin sliding back. Connor  _ opens  _ himself entirely— _ shows  _ Nines the feelings he can't quantify. The trust. The quiet happiness he feels in every moment they spend together, the comfortable feeling of Nines still being his friend. The affection—he still doesn't know if it's platonic or romantic, where and how and if it blends the two—but it exists, it's there, and it's not going away. And he knows, someway, somehow, that he loves Nines. 

And Nines. Nines, then—from the moment Connor awakened him, he thought of the RK800 as someone kind. Someone that he could trust. And Connor has proven this true time and time again, reassuring him, helping him find his place in the world. And there's nothing he values more than the time they spend together, the easy friendship between them that fell into place like puzzle pieces fitting together. And then, the disease—the shock, and then the fear that he would lose their friendship, the fear that he would lose  _ Connor.  _

But nothing changed, not really. And isn't that cruel? That the flowers are killing him when both of them are happy as close friends? Isn't it cruel that Connor loves him in a way he barely understands, a way that, at least in some part, Nines can't return? 

Or so he thought. So he thought, but in their days together, watching him wither slowly, beautiful flowers of loyalty and devotion and death falling from Connor's lips, for him,  _ for him— _ something changed. Nines would do anything for him, anything to have more  _ time. _ Staying by his side at night, during the day, taking care of him, holding him close, scanning him and watching his systems fail until he couldn't take it anymore and stopped. He would do anything. 

Including, it seems, falling in love. 

The tears spill from Connor's eyes. Their hands are interlaced together now, foreheads pressed against each other. Nines is crying too, silently, eyes locked on his. 

Some say that if you should marry anyone, it should be your best friend. And Connor thinks… yes. Nines is still his best friend. But if he's willing, they could be another thing, too. 

"Yes," Nines breathes. "Yes."

* * *

_ There is a reward, in a way, for survivors of Hanahaki disease. _

* * *

Nines brings him to Simon as soon as they make their not-so-little realization. 

"They're receding," the PL600 breathes, eyes flicking back and forth as he receives the data from the scanner. "They're… Connor, you'll—you'll be okay." 

Simon tells them that it'll be a few months before Connor's completely back to normal—and he has to come by every now and then to repair the damage left behind by the receding roots.

Connor's fine with that. He has all the time in the world, now. And he can't complain, with Nines staying with him every step of the way as his energy returns, as he's able to stay awake longer and longer every day. 

As the number of flowers spilling from his mouth falls. At his worst, he was expelling nearly a dozen a day, but soon it becomes only one or two every few days. And then, back to petals. 

The flowers in the vase wither as the ones in his chest shrink, roots pulling themselves from his components. Soon, the vase is completely empty, save for the water that they keep in it. 

They, yes. Nines moves back in with him. It's easy enough—Nines doesn't have a lot of material belongings, and they're in the same apartment complex, anyway. One bedroom is not a problem, given that they share a bed now. 

Connor's well enough to return to work within a month. Hank visited, of course, but seeing him at work cements in Connor's mind that,  _ Yes. Things are going back to normal.  _

As normal as they can be when you're now in a romantic relationship with your closest friend, that is. And  _ that  _ is… it doesn't feel like one thing they had became another, not really. It's more like… they've added something new. A new flavor, in addition to the older flavors of friendship, companionship, trust. 

Connor likes to hold Nines's hand. He likes to hug him, too, and cuddle. He likes to run his fingers through Nines's hair, and see the RK900 melt into comfortable bliss at the ministrations. 

He likes it when they kiss, soft and chaste, breathing each other's air, holding each other close. It feels good. It feels right. 

And Nines. Connor can see as the fog of guilt and grief lifts from him, as he seems  _ lighter,  _ nearly, freed from a weight that's been crushing him for so, so long now. He can see how Nines smiles more often, shy little lifts at the corners of his mouth, and then broader ones, ones reaching his eyes, as Connor presses kisses to the sensitive sensors on his fingers. The RK900 laughs, then, the sound better than any music in Connor's ears. 

It's enough for Connor to smile in return and say, "I love you, Nines."

The RK900's smile softens, and he pulls Connor into a hug. "I love you too, Connor."

And then something makes his entire body  _ seize,  _ and he's curling into Nines, powerful coughs tearing through him. It's not alarming, not really. They knew this would happen, that this would mark the end of the disease's course. 

But it's still intense, and Nines holds him steady as he heaves, and finally, finally, expels one pristine bloom of  _ Chrysanthemum morifolium,  _ immaculate, clean of any thirium. It falls between them, and there it stays as Connor catches his breath, leaning heavily against Nines. Until Connor feels like himself again, and he sits back, picking it up. 

Undying love, was it? 

Connor offers it to Nines. "For you," he says. 

Nines takes it carefully, using his other hand to brush against the petals. "Thank you, Connor." He lifts the hand to cup Connor's cheek instead, pulling him in for another soft kiss. "Thank you," and Connor knows it's for more than just the flower. 

He places it in the vase, where they can see it every morning. 

* * *

_ At the end of the victim's recovery, if they have reached the later stages of the disease, they will expel a singular, pristine flower that will remain eternal so long as the love lasts. A symbol of love suffered for, and finally achieved. _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! One of my biggest motivations for writing this fic was making the Eternal Flower thing a Thing
> 
> On Connor and Nines and their aromanticism:  
> As Connor mentioned in the fic, he identifies as quoiromantic. For him, this means that it's hard for him to differentiate between platonic and romantic love - he just knows he feels a strong affection for Nines. There are actions that he might think of as more platonic or romantic, but overall, the general feeling is still _undefined_ (heh) for him.  
> Read more on the aromantic wiki [here](https://aromantic.wikia.org/wiki/Quoiromantic).
> 
> For Nines - he is demiromantic. This means that he'll only experience romantic attraction to someone he already has a strong emotional connection to, and even if he has that connection, he's not necessarily attracted. He originally thought he was aromantic because he was never attracted to anyone.  
> Read more on the aromantic wiki [here](https://aromantic.wikia.org/wiki/Demiromantic).
> 
> Check me out on social media:  
> Deviantart: [Ausp-ice](https://www.deviantart.com/ausp-ice)  
> Tumblr: [@ausp-ice](https://ausp-ice.tumblr.com/)  
> Instagram: [@ausp.icium](https://www.instagram.com/ausp.icium/)  
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